


Fourth Date Stuff

by tanyart



Series: Reaper76 Week 2017 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dating, M/M, Violent Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9407510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Reaper and Soldier 76 go on a fourth date. (And things get serious.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Reaper76 Week:**  
>  Day 3 - Trust/Betrayal  
> Day 4 - Vacation/Time Off
> 
> A little late! But here's the spiritual sequel to [let’s go, don’t wait](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7738894), though it’s not necessary to read it to understand this one. Please forgive me.
> 
> * * *

“Go get dinner with me tonight,” says Soldier 76.

The demand comes in the middle of grappling for the steering wheel of LumeriCo’s mobile payload vehicle, cleverly disguised as a beatdown truck that just so happens to be carrying a very large photon generator in the back.  Soldier 76 is violently pressed to the driver’s side of the door, head brushing against the jagged edge of the broken window. He grits his teeth.  His tactical visor flashes red, warning him of an approaching cliff, but at the moment, cliffs are the least of his worries.

“You asking me out?” Reaper’s voice hisses, loud despite the howling wind.  His grip on the wheel loosens for a second in surprise.  The truck lops over a small bump of uneven dirt, jarring them both.

Soldier 76 seizes the moment to punch Reaper in the face and wrench the wheel back onto the road and _not_ towards the cliff.  He assumes Reaper would have a decent chance of surviving a drop like that, but not him. He sneers from behind his visor. “You deaf as well as ugly?”

“...Uh, sure,” says Reaper, sounding somewhat dazed in the passenger seat.  The punch had landed hard.  Blood trickles from beneath his mask and down the line of his throat.

At first, Soldier 76 thinks Reaper is agreeing with him—that is he is, actually, deaf as well as ugly.  It takes a moment shift gears—for _both_ his mental processes and the truck—and Soldier belatedly realizes it’s more likely that Reaper had been agreeing to dinner, and to not the insult.  

So, really, he only has himself to blame when Reaper leaps up from his seat, grabbing back the steering wheel, and crashes the both of them straight into a tree.

 

* * *

  
  


The stolen photon generator is in pieces, and what pieces that are left are on fire.  Soldier 76 supposes that a weapon broken beyond repair is still better than a weapon in Talon hands.  In between crawling out from the wreckage and getting thrown from the subsequent explosion, he eventually chalks it up to some kind of shitty victory, because nothing else is going right today.

Reaper nudges him over on his back with the heel of his boot, looking down at Soldier through his impassive mask.  He looks perfectly intact despite totaling the entire payload while still in it.  Black smoke seeps in and out from his body and swirls at his feet.  It’s not all that impressive.  Soldier’s got smoke coming out from him too, mostly from the explosion.

Reaper stamps the small fire out from Soldier 76’s smoldering jacket with two very precise kicks to the shoulder.  Soldier 76 grabs his boot before the third kick can land.

“So who’s paying?” Reaper asks, pointing his shotgun down at him before Soldier can attempt to break his ankle.

Soldier 76 releases Reaper’s boot, and Reaper lowers his shotgun right to his temple.

“Not you,” Soldier 76 says, head tilting as the cold muzzle presses against his forehead.  It almost feels good, a quick relief from the burning cuts to his face.  “Not with that blood money.”

The gun to his head eases by a fraction as Reaper shifts his stance to better convey his disbelief.  His free hand raises up, palm upturned.  It’s a gesture Soldier 76 is very familiar with.

“Yeah?  And how’s that vigilante paycheck working out for you, boy scout?”

“Good enough for steak and wine at Ossos,” Soldier 76 replies, hand coming up to grip the gun to shove it aside.  He sees Reaper’s finger pull the trigger but by then it’s too late to turn his head.  The ensuing shot that fires next to his ear is deafening.  The dirt behind him splatters against his back.  He misses what Reaper says next, especially when he decides to yank the gun from his grasp and use all his strength to tackle Reaper off his feet.

The ringing in his skull doesn’t stop.  He feels the rumble of Reaper’s chest beneath him when he speaks, but Soldier can’t hear a single thing.  It must show when he doesn’t reply.  

“If you hadn’t fucking _missed_ my head from two inches away, you wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Soldier growls.  His own voice comes out muffled in his head.

Finally, out of what must be frustration, Reaper reaches up and sinks his claws into Soldier’s shoulder, pulling him close.  Soldier 76 falls forward, stilling when Reaper’s mask presses to the side of his face, more dangerous than any weapon to his temple.

“Be there at seven,” Reaper rasps, every word precise and articulate.

“Seven-thirty,” Soldier 76 challenges.  Reaper’s grip on him tightens, sending a shock of pain at his arm. Soldier curls inward, turning his face into Reaper’s neck.

“Six,” Reaper says, breathing going shallow, which makes sense, as Soldier is putting his entire weight on him. “And you’re covering for tip.”

“I _said_ I’m buying.”

“I’ll kill the waiter if you do,” Reaper says, shrugging.  He pauses, as if remembering something.  “And you, too.  I guess.”

Soldier 76 winces.  Reaper’s talons digging into him is getting to be excruciating. He pulls his shoulders back, bringing up his hand to wrap around Reaper’s wrist, and pries the vice-like grip off him.  His thumb pushes into Reaper’s palm.  He sits up.  Shame about their gloves.  “I’d like to see you try.”

He feels Reaper’s fingers squeeze around his hand, brief but ruthlessly crushing. Almost fond. Soldier 76 punches him with his free hand.  His fist goes through smoke, and he drops another ten inches to the ground.

“It’s a date then,” Reaper confirms, the rest of him disappearing into the air before Soldier can stop him.

Soldier 76 sits back up.

“Asshole,” he mutters.

 

* * *

  
  


They do not meet up at six, or seven, or seven-thirty.  Soldier 76 doesn’t even bother going to Ossos.  He arrives at elBuffi at eight in the evening, dressed in a tailored suit with a bouquet of bright orange flowers tucked under his arm.  His dark reflection from the restaurant's window catches his attention and Soldier 76 stops in front of it to give himself a quick inspection.

His mask is off, left behind at his hideout, and the suit is more or less passable for a fine dining place like elBuffi.  It’s certainly not going to turn heads, but it isn’t going to shame him out of the restaurant either.  Soldier 76 frowns, adjusting his collar, and at the last moment decides to forego the tie.  He undos the top three buttons of his dress shirt instead, wrapping the tie quickly into a roll and tucking it into his inner pocket.  His hand bumps against his holster, the cold metal of his pistol pushing into his armpit, but his fitted jacket hides the shape of it well.  He walks into the restaurant.

The omnic host greets him in pleasing dulcet tones.  

“I believe there’s a table for ‘ _King_ ’, party of two,” Soldier 76 says, because he wouldn’t put past Reaper pulling shit like this.

“Yes, right this way,” the omnic says, blue lights flashing as they confirm the table.

Soldier 76 follows them with a bland smile.  In the meantime, he glances around the restaurant, noting its layout.  It’s an open area with dining tables surrounding an open tiled space, and Soldier feels relatively confident.  He doesn’t see Reaper though.

“You table,” the omnic says, gesturing to his seat.  “With Miss King?”

And Soldier is _definitely_ not seeing Reaper now at the table.  Instead, there is a rather young lady sitting by herself, glancing up at them from her menu.

“Oh,” she says, looking up at Soldier.  She frowns, clearly disappointed and possibly more than a little skeeved out.  “Wow.  You do _not_ look anything like your online profile.”  

Soldier turns back to the omnic host.

“I’m sorry.  Is there a table under the name _Reyes_?” he corrects hastily.

The omnic host pauses as he consults his tablet.  His expression is politely blank when he leads Soldier 76 away.  “Gabriel Reyes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yes,” the omnic says. “This way, please. Mr. Reyes is already waiting upstairs.”

Soldier 76 frowns.  

_Well._

 

* * *

  
  


Soldier finds Reaper on the third floor terrace, under the night sky and decorative floating lanterns.  Sleek tables and chairs line the balcony, some already occupied by dining customers. He pauses at the sight. It has been a long while since he’s been in the middle of this kind of luxury.  The flowers beneath his arm crinkle and shift within their plastic wrapping, and Soldier 76 has to make an effort to not crush them.  

Sitting at the very edge of the balcony with a table set for two, Reaper looks up from his menu.  Like Soldier 76, he has traded his usual mercenary attire for a simple dress suit of deep gray.

“Thought we were meeting at Ossos at six,” he says, sardonic, and leans back into his chair. His gaze sweeps over Soldier 76 and stops for a moment at his collar and then at the top three undone buttons of his shirt. He blinks, slow, and his eyes go back to Soldier’s face.

“I didn’t feel like getting stood up,” Soldier 76 says, also returning Reaper’s stare.  Reaper is without his mask as well, though Soldier assumes he had applied some light cosmetics to dull over the scars for the sake of the public. “And I never agreed to six.”

Reaper scoffs.  The chair across from him scoots outwards as he nudges it from under the table with his foot. The candle on the table flickers.  “Sit.”

Soldier 76 doesn’t sit.  He stands in front of Reaper, looking down at him in faint exasperation.  Reaper’s lacerated face isn’t new to him.  He has seen it before, over the course of the years fighting each other, but he hasn’t seen it quite like this before.  There’s no blood or bruises this time, though the scowl Reaper throws him is just about the same as ever.  He feels himself grow hot.  With anger. Probably.

“Flowers,” Soldier says, and shoves the bouquet against Reaper’s chest.  He takes a step closer and continues pushing.  The wrapping crunches, flower stems snapping under the pressure.

Reaper turns his head away, holding his breath.  He forcibly removes Soldier’s hand with an impatient swat and glances down at the bouquet, eyes narrowing at how the soft orange petals shine wet.  He takes the flowers and tosses the bunch to a passing waiter.

“I don’t want them,” Reaper tells the waiter, as Soldier 76 switches out his own chair with another one from the neighboring table.  He turns back to Soldier 76.  “Nice try.  Chloroform won’t work on me.”

Soldier 76 finally sits down, sneaking a quick glance over the balcony.  The glass railing would do little to keep someone from falling off, if hurled sufficiently, and Soldier has no doubt _someone_ will be going over it by the end of the night.  Behind him, the waiter starts to wobble unsteadily back into the kitchens, orange petals drifting behind him. He opens his menu.  “Figured it wouldn’t.”

“Waste of a bouquet,” Reaper mutters, as Soldier 76 lifts the menu higher to hide his face.  He throws Soldier a curious look, scarred mouth drawn into a thoughtful frown, but says nothing else.

A new omnic waiter brings along two glasses of complimentary wine, pouring it with excessive flair in front of them.   _Pinot noir,_ the waiter tells them.  It’s red and dark, perfect with steak, which Soldier 76 knows for a fact that he has not ordered yet.  Reaper’s frown shifts into a small smile, sharp teeth flashing in the candlelight.

“I ordered ahead,” he says, picking up his glass for a mock toast.  “You like yours done rare, right?”

“Yes.”  Soldier 76 rolls his eyes, but raises his glass. “Glad you didn’t forget.”

They wait for the waiter to turn away before tossing their wine over the balcony.  When Soldier inspects his empty cup, he sees a suspicious thin film of residue at the edges. Sloppy work, he thinks, but he’s no better; he had flicked a powdered pill in Reaper’s glass while the waiter was pouring.  From the second story below, he hears shrieking.  Something about acid burning through a table.  He can’t hear it clearly—the man sitting down next to them had slumped in his chair as a quick shock of electricity renders him unconscious.    

“You rigged my chair to do that?” Soldier 76 asks, already sending a quick anonymous text for an ambulance.  He pauses as his phone flashes a network error, screen lighting up with a purple skull.   _Great._  He hurls the phone over the balcony as well and isn’t surprise when it bursts in midair, hacked from a distance to overheat.

“When did you switch it?” Reaper crosses his arms, disappointed.

“Can’t say.  Maybe you should start paying closer attention,” Soldier 76 says.

“Oh,” says Reaper, tilting his head and bearing his teeth. “I am.”

The look is heated in all the wrong ways. Soldier 76 doesn’t have much to say after that besides clearing his throat.  He could have used the wine right now, poisoned or not. Thankfully, the waiter comes back with their meals, setting their plates down with a dainty flourish.  Soldier 76 catches Reaper’s hand hovering over his food for a second too long as he reaches for a glass of water.  He frowns, looking down at his plate.  He _had_ been looking forward to the steak.

Reaper seems to sense his distrust, or expect it.  Which is just as aggravating.

“Something wrong?” he asks, toying with his steak knife.  The blade twirls idly between his fingers, spinning once before he pierces it into his own food.  He grins. “Tell you what-”

“Oh,” says the omnic waiter, who had turned around to see the unconscious man slumped over the table next to them.  “I think, we need to call-” And it’s about as far as the omnic gets before Reaper reaches over and shoves them under their own table, black smoke seeping out from his suit.

The steak knife disappears. Soldier 76 hears an electrical fizzle, hard metal jostling against his knees, making for a very interesting game of footsies with two pairs of feet and the upper half of an omnic body.  He peers under the table, lifting up the long tablecloth with faint guilt.  He had been too preoccupied with the possibility of his poisoned steak to save the poor waiter.  

“ _Anyway_ ,” Reaper continues.  The omnic waiter had gone silent beneath them, though Soldier 76 can hear its mechanisms still whirling.  Whatever Reaper had done, it hadn’t been enough to kill it.  

“How are we going to order dessert now?” Soldier 76 mutters, finally letting the tablecloth fall back.

“I doubt we’ll be staying that long,” Reaper says, picking up his fork with a thoughtful expression.  

Soldier 76 grunts, not sure if he wants to agree or disagree.  He gives his steak another narrow eyed look while Reaper watches him, clearly amused.  He picks up his knife, any protest now a moot point, but it makes him feel better.

“How about you cut me a piece of wherever you like, and I’ll give it a taste test,” Reaper suggests.  The corner of his mouth hitches upwards, crooked.  His unnatural dark eyes make it impossible for the candlelight to make them look anything but menacing. “My knife fell on the floor anyway.”

It’s not charming. It shouldn’t be.  Soldier 76 straightens his shoulders, feeling just the tiniest bit threatened for his willpower, but decides to take Reaper up on his offer.  He runs the knife through his steak, cutting a slice from the left edge at random.  The meat bleeds red as he spears his fork through it and holds it up.

“Hope you choke,” he says, and watches very carefully when Reaper leans forward across the table, head lowering to take the slice between his teeth.  He holds the fork still, feeling the faint clink of Reaper biting down.  Soldier 76 pulls the fork away.

Reaper sits back, chewing briefly.  He swallows, head tipping to the side, and grins.

“Look at that,” he says. “Not poisoned.”

“I’m not convinced,” Soldier 76 replies, cutting another piece.  Right side this time.  He holds out his fork.

Reaper scoots his chair closer and leans over the table again.

 

* * *

  
  


Eventually, they get to dancing.  The third floor terrace becomes less and less occupied at an alarming rate.  Reaper is running out of tables to hide unconscious bodies under, and Soldier 76 can only throw so many people off the balcony and into the bushes below to save them from being poisoned, electrocuted, or shot.  The steak was, however, delicious.

Soldier 76 is back on the first floor where he had first noted the open tiled area.  Music plays over the speakers, something new and poppish, but the current song is slow enough that it only requires him to sway back and forth.  Reaper doesn’t seem to mind, one palm pressing against the curve of his back, the other holding on to his hand.  

“Distracted?” Soldier 76 asks.

“Bored,” Reaper replies, though he doesn’t look at him.  His gaze focuses on a point over Soldier 76’s shoulder.

Soldier 76 spins them around, using most of his modified strength to drag Reaper back into place.  Now looking over Reaper’s shoulder instead, he spots Miss King still sitting in the same spot, though her dinner partner—and, apparently, online hook-up—catches his interest more.

“So, why’s Talon suddenly interested in LumeriCo’s vice president?” Soldier 76 asks, just for the sake of talking.  He can assume why, and none of it is good.

“I don’t get paid to ask questions,” Reaper says, shrugging.  His grip on Soldier’s hand tightens.  He presses close, mouth near Soldier 76’s ear, and lowers his voice, “And this isn’t your junior high prom, by the way.”

Unable to back down from a challenge, Soldier 76 slides his hand lower down Reaper’s back, just enough to be appropriate in public.  He almost stumbles when he can feel Reaper smile against his cheek, his cool breath flitting over his skin.  “Never went to junior high prom—oh, Jesus, _really_ -”

He catches a flick of black smoke curling over Reaper’s arm as they sway to the music.  Too late, he notices how their joined hands are directly pointing at LumeriCo’s vice president and Miss King.  

The black smoke starts to condense around Reaper’s arm, and Soldier sees a flash of silver as a small pistol suddenly materializes between their palms with Reaper’s finger at the trigger.

Reaper takes aim, and Soldier 76 hastily dips him.  The pistol recoils in their hands as Reaper’s redirected shot flies straight to the ceiling, silent and unnoticed over the music.

“Ugh,” says Reaper, glaring at him.  Dusty pieces of the ceiling start to crumble, raining down on them both.

Too annoyed to reply, Soldier 76 pries the gun away from Reaper’s grip and shoots the blinking smoke detector.  The pistol and silencer are _his_ , and how Reaper had managed to lift it from his jacket, he doesn’t know.  

The fire alarm goes off, and the sprinklers turn on.  LumeriCo’s vice president is ushered out from the room, along with her date, Miss King.  The rest of the restaurant seems to follow after with no small amount of chaos.  Soldier 76 relaxes enough to let go of Reaper with all the intent of wanting to drop him to the floor.  No such thing happens. Reaper remains on his feet, arms wrapped comfortably around Soldier 76’s shoulders as they straighten up together.  

The restaurant is loud with people screaming and running. Soldier 76 rubs his temples, sprinkler water soaking his suit.  He stops when he feels something that suspiciously feels like Reaper’s missing steak knife dig into his side.

“I think we’re done here,” Reaper says, looking around and dripping wet.  Despite everything, he sounds pleased.  “Let’s call a cab.”

A stabbing isn’t much to scare him, but Soldier 76 calls the cab anyway.

 

* * *

  
  


They stumble into Reaper’s hotel room—rented? Stolen? Broken into? Paid fairly?  Soldier 76’s mind fumbles for an explanation and comes up short.  He isn’t feeling very spectacular at the moment, but he finds himself curled up against Reaper on the floor, dizzy and exhausted.  Next to him, Reaper flings an arm over his chest, his skin cold and still damp from the escaping restaurant.  

“What the hell did you do to me?” Reaper growls, voice slurring.  He puts a clumsy hand to Soldier 76’s face, forcing him to look, though Soldier doesn’t fight it in the least.

“Your flowers,” he says, too tired to hide the truth.  He is, possibly, a little bit proud of it. “That sleep toxin Ana uses? Made sure to get it all over your jacket. You’ve been breathing in the stuff since the start.”

“Oh,” Reaper says, and shifts a little to allow Soldier 76 to tuck his head beneath his chin.  His breath stutters as if trying to muster up some indignation.  But, like Soldier, it falls a little flat.  “So what’s _your_ excuse?”

Soldier 76 groans, burying his face into Reaper's shoulder.  “Blood loss. You stabbed me with that steak knife.”

“That was hours ago.”

“Yeah,” Soldier 76 says, remembering.  He reaches down his side and yanks it out. “It _was_.”

He hears Reaper huff out a soft laugh, muzzy-sounding to his ears.  He is, in all honesty, going to pass out soon, the same way he is sure Reaper will. Something clicks between them, and Reaper’s icy palm presses against his bleeding wound. A yellow biotic field flickers on, warm and comforting.  Soldier makes a mental note to find better ways to secure his things from Reaper’s wandering hands.

“I’m definitely buying next time,” he manages to say before he slips into unconsciousness.  

Reaper sighs.  “Sure you are.”

 

* * *

  
  


A week later, they meet at Ossos at six.


End file.
